


Love Letters

by AuroraExecution



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Charles Is a Darling, Charles knows what he wants, Erik doesn't celebrate it, Erik is a dork, Love Letters, M/M, Post Beach, Snark, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:41:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraExecution/pseuds/AuroraExecution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles, Erik, and the love letters between them.  </p>
<p>Or, Charles writes things, Erik doesn't know what Valentine's Day is, and slight angst is balanced out with snarky fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Letters

**Author's Note:**

> This was sort of inspired by the RPs I do with jazzedforthefall, wherein post-beach Erik and Charles struggle to maintain a long-distance relationship of sorts despite being separated by everything else. Erik periodically visits Charles, and they're actually often quite full of conflict and angst in our RPs, but for some reason I suddenly wanted to write valentine's fic, and this happened, so forgive the sudden fluff.
> 
> (I have a love-hate relationship with Valentine's Day fic, in that I usually hate all the saccharine chick-flick storylines, but I occasionally I have a burning desire to write something for Valentine's Day anyway.)

 

1.

_Erik,_

_I doubt you know why this day is significant, although I suppose it isn’t in the greater scheme of things, but I couldn’t help wanting to write something.  It’s a silly holiday, really; the breadth of one’s affections should never be influenced by solar cycles.  And yet._

_Raven used to love Valentine’s Day.  She liked to make hearts with me out of paper and lace and bits of ribbon.  (Hers were lovely, and mine had coils of DNA.)  I don’t make them anymore, but I still think of her this time each year—and then I think of you.   I wrote poems, once, for the girls I dated in college, but I never wrote you anything and I think I ought.  You never wrote me anything either, I suppose, but I still remember your kisses, like brands.  Like love letters._

_They were intense, your love letters.  German and scalding and full of the complete power of your emotions, you wrote them with lips and teeth and tongue, with hands wide and rough on my back and in my hair._

_I don’t really want paper hearts, Erik, or declarations of affection.  Your poetry would be awful, I think, and likely in French.  Nonetheless, I couldn’t help keeping my eyes shut this morning when I awoke.  You were only beside me until I opened them._

_This has gone terribly maudlin, hasn’t it?  You’d laugh, but I reserve the right to be as maudlin as I like from time to time.  I only hope I’ll see you again soon, even if it only ends in an argu—_

 

* * *

 

2.

“Letter for you, Erik.” 

Sure enough, a plain white business envelope is dropped onto the desk in front of him as Janos walks by. 

“From who?” Erik asks, not looking away from his notes.

“No address,” Janos replies, vanishing back into the hall. 

“Someone send you a valentine?” Emma inquires from the sofa.  Erik still stays focused on his work and refuses to be curious.

“It’s a letter.” 

Emma’s mouth curls into a smirk.  

“Is love letter,” declares Azazel with finality. 

\--

Later, Angel catches Erik at his desk after hours, furtively reading a letter.  She smiles and shuts the door.

 

* * *

 

3.

“Alex.  Sean.” 

The two shrug at Charles carelessly. 

“I _am_ still a telepath, you know,” Charles reminds them, but his voice is warm. 

Alex and Sean are unrepentantly silent. 

“Based on the guilt and avoidance you’re both projecting, I can tell you both know where the letter went.  Would you like to tell me what you’ve done with it?” 

“No,” says Alex. 

Sean at least looks apologetic, but does not explain either.  “Sorry, Charles.” 

\--

“Here’s the mail, Charles.”  Hank appears in the study to put the stack on Charles’s desk, then hands over a small blank envelope.  “This one was in the mailbox, but it can’t have been sent through the post office.” 

“Thank you, Hank.” 

After Hank leaves, Charles pulls the envelope open with his fingers and pulls out his own unfinished letter along with a small slip of paper. 

_I thought you would want this back. My poetry is not awful._

 

* * *

 

4.

_Erik,_

_I didn’t ask for your poetry._

 

* * *

 

5.

“Charles.” 

“Hello, Erik.” 

“I’m here.” 

“I can see that.  Do you need something?”

“You didn’t want my poetry.” 

Charles smiles, humor playing about his lips.  “No.”

“You never meant to send your letter to me.” 

“No, not exactly,” admits Charles, but his voice is fond. 

“Alex?” 

“Sean contributed.” 

Erik lets out a short, surprised laugh. 

“Valentine’s Day was two weeks ago, you know,” Charles informs him after a pause, but Erik only pulls him closer.

“I’m Jewish.  Go back to sleep, Charles.” 

“I find it unfair that your only response was two sentences long,” murmurs Charles, already laying his head against Erik’s chest. 

Erik kisses him, a love letter in the dark. 


End file.
